Secrets of the Dark Lord
by FlamingWolf
Summary: Amon has a secret, and Robin has a crush on a handsome pop star...
1. Secrets of the Dark Lord

The tall, dark man strode from the stage. Irritably, he flung off the black cape and tore open the front of his chivalrous black velvet attire. His longish dark hair dripped sweat down his face, and he reached back to tighten the low tail he had caught at the nape of his neck, swearing silently. He hated this. He hated the whole 'idol singer persona'. His agent, when he had discovered the tall, dark man's talent, had been in the middle of being swept away by the 'gentlemanly vampire' of America's 'Vampire Lestat' after the movie "Queen of the Damned". This agent had decided that the dark, handsome stranger had the bearing perfect for such a part; the Dark Lord had immediately risen in popularity.  
'It helps to keep food on the table.' He thought, glancing into the mirror and scrubbing off the grease paint.  
Amon winced. 'At least no one will ever recognize me like this..."  
  
"Robin!" Dojima squealed. "You're listening to pop!"  
Robin slipped off her headphones and smiled. "I bought the CD to drown out Michael's horrible rock, and decided I liked the singer."  
"It doesn't hurt that he's so cute!" Dojima giggled. "Don'cha kinda think he looks like Amon?" She asked, picking up the CD cover. Robin glanced at the gothic album, and looked up at her coworker with a look of surprise.  
"Yes, he kind of does! Do you think..." She started to ask, then trailed off as they looked at each other. "Nah!" Both girls answered in unison. Dojima giggled again, and Robin laughed lightly. Amon swept into the room, checking his orbo, and stopped dead for a moment, looking between the girls and the cover of the 'Dark Lord' CD. He recovered quickly. Dojima ignored him.  
"So, are you going to his concert tonight?" Dojima asked.  
"Yes. My seat is in the first row of B-section." Robin told her. Dojima shook her head.  
"No, you're sitting front row with me. I have an extra ticket and no one to go with."  
"Break my heart," Sakaki drawled. "You didn't even consider me." His Game Boy beeped, and he pumped a fist in the air, then quickly saved, having reached a new level. "Yes! Score one for the game otaku!"  
Robin handed him her ticket. "See? You can still go."  
"Are Michael and I going to be the only people on call tonight?" Karasuma asked, razing her head from her scrying mirror.  
"Amon's going to be here, isn't he?" Robin asked. The older man shook his head in a gruffer version of Dojima's earlier gesture.  
"I took the night off. Personal business." Amon answered. Everyone stared at him, but he was examining his gun minutely to hide his evil smile. He knew who tonight's victim was to be... 


	2. Havoc at the Concert

Author's disclaimer: The line "glorious destinies result in glorious funerals" is a proverb from Mercedes Lackey's "Heralds of Valdemar" series. The rest of the lyricism is my own.  
  
Robin wished she had brought earplugs. She had never expected it to be so noisy when she came. She turned to say something to her companion, but Dojima was too busy flirting with the guy next to her. Robin sighed and glanced over her shoulder towards the B-section. Sakaki had a pair of binoculars and was scanning the crowd. They jerked to a stop on her, and a hand raised and waved. Robin waved back, and began to wish she had some aspirin.  
After about four hours of screaming, a louder strain of Goth-rock shrieked through the amplifiers. The crowd somehow managed to become noisier, and in a swirl of black velvet, the pop star appeared on the edge of the stage. To an accompaniment of a synthesizer that (supposedly) sounded (vaguely) like an organ, an electric guitar, and a set of drums, the singer hit off in a round of really dark, brooding songs that somehow an entire nation had come to worship. Screaming girls (including Dojima) lurched towards the stage, and Robin was momentarily afraid that she was going to be crushed under foot. She began to regret the curiosity that had led her to this musical hell. However, even Robin was soon swept up into the music, and she even began to move a little bit in time to it, until she was dancing to the gothic strains as much as any of the thousands of other fans packed into this tiny hall.  
She barely noticed when an hour had passed, when the music slowed, then fell to a stop. The sweating star on the stage paused to take a gulp from the water bottle, which had been previously hidden. The stage lights were scorching, and he opened the neck of his shirt enough to excite the imaginations of all of the fan girls in the audience, though for all practical purposes, he was trying to breathe. He gave a surreptitious signal to his backup, and they began to retune for the slower, brooding 'love songs' of the second act. His eyes scanned the front row until he had seen the two girls he was most interested in toying with, then gave all of the usual "idol crap" associated with bands.  
"So are we all having a good time?" He called into the mike. Amplified and in more than a monotone, Dojima, Sakaki, and Robin all noted a slight resemblance to Amon's voice, but there was enough of a difference that the girls began to giggle again at the preposterous idea. Various audience members roared "Yeah!" (and "NO!"), and he knew the set up.  
"All right then, I'm going to need a bit of help with my next piece, and if there's a beautiful woman out there who knows "Night Wind", I'm going to ask her to come on up here!"  
There was another crush towards the stage, which the crowd control managed to stem. Robin's eyes lit up. She knew the female accompaniment. It was her favorite of the songs on the CD, and she had memorized it, but she considered herself to be out of the running. In one smooth motion, he leaned down from the stage and swept Robin up next to him with his left arm, while his right arm released her hair to fall loosely to her shoulders. Robin, being in her ever-present black dress, seemed to match him perfectly. "Is she the Dark Queen, or what? What's your name, sweet thing?" He winked at Robin, and she was utterly flabbergasted. In a small voice that was barely picked up by the microphone, she answered, "Robin." "All right, little bird," He answered, gaining a slight gasp from Robin and open mouth shock from Dojima and Sakaki, "then this song is perfect for you." And indeed it was, for the lyrics of one verse:  
  
Continue on, little bird:  
  
Fly despite the shackles that keep me back. Go little bird. Don't let an old man's dreams bind you. Glorious destinies result in glorious funerals And my funeral is certain. Don't let my love hold you here.  
  
Robin had a clear, breathy alto, perfect for the part, and it seemed almost as if the song was written for her. She wasn't bad, but she could have benefited from a few vocal lessons. She closed her eyes and let her mind soar as she fell into the complex harmony that seemed to cry out of Amon; tender towards her, yet constantly pushing her to a distance. The song was over too soon. Dojima and Sakaki wondered once more if the singer could possibly be Amon, but his next actions suggested otherwise. The Dark Lord dropped a light kiss on her forehead and seemed to be guiding her back towards the steps, when his head shot up in unfeigned alarm. In one quick motion, he had yanked her back and under the meager protection of the thick cloak as screams erupted from the back of the hall. The star's head shot up, and his eyes met those of the witch who stumbled in, his craft blazing. A blast headed right at the stage. The singer fell to the floor, shielding Robin under him. The witch paused and shook his head, and in that moment, Amon was himself again, using his wind craft to knock his opponent to the ground and pin him, while his left hand slapped impotently at the place where his pocket and orbo gun should be. His eyes shot up to the row where Sakaki should be, but the boy seemed to be swearing and searching for his own handgun. To those present who knew her, it was a surprise as Dojima jumped onto the stage where she could see more clearly, and let loose a quick shot of orbo bullets. The witch went down twitching, and Amon rose, pushing Robin to Dojima. "Get your friend out of here." He told her, then turned to leave the stage. "Who are you?" Dojima cried. "Are you Amon?" The figure never paused in his step. Over his shoulder, he answered, "I've never heard of anyone with such a given name. My name is Yami." "Darkness..." Robin breathed, staring after the man. 


	3. Fire of Love in our Flesh and our bone

Amon's language was none too clean as he muttered his way back into his dressing room. He flung off the cape and shirt into the corner, shortly followed by his boots and socks. Now that he was more comfortable, he could rail at himself more freely.  
"What did you think you were doing out there? Flirting with Robin, giving yourself away...gods help you Amon! You obviously can't help yourself!"  
His door flew open and he whirled to face the threat. For once in his life, he wasn't fast enough, and the orbo bullet caught him squarely in the chest. He fell with a choked cry.  
A dark woman walked over and turned him onto his back. "You've been a bad boy, Amon." She chuckled. "Flaunting your craft for the world to see? You should have been wiser." The dark form checked his breathing and pulse. She nodded, apparently satisfied, and wiped the stage make-up from his face. The world would know who and what Amon was at last...  
  
Robin slipped into the STN-J headquarters the next morning, exhausted after her sleepless night. She froze, hearing Sakaki and Dojima mid- argument.  
"But I heard him call her that, once. Picking her with that song, with those lyrics...it's just too much of a coincidence for me to stomach." Sakaki said, earning a dirty look from Michael as he swiped the last chocolate nut-meal donut.  
"C'mon! This is Amon! He would never be a pop star, much flirt with Robin on stage, with that many people watching. Think about this for a moment!" Dojima countered. She thumbed idly through a fashion magazine, looking for an article on the famous 'Dark Lord', or an interview with that famous personage. "Besides, I don't think he's a grav-user. That had to have been manipulation of gravity."  
"Or wind." A voice spoke from behind Robin. She jumped and turned to face Megumi, a girl from another unit from within SOLOMON. At the surprised looks, she said airily, "Oh, I just heard the whole argument. Didn't you know that Amon was a craft user- a wind craft user?"  
The entire group was now looking at Megumi, faces all registering open dislike. Even Robin found it difficult to be polite to this arrogant, cruel woman. Megumi's eyebrow rose as she looked at Amon's unusually empty space. "Oh, dear," she said, with mock concern. "I hope he wasn't hurt during a hunt last night. I've never known him to leave his trench coat here before."  
She flounced out and Robin crossed the room, lifting Amon's coat. She had been feeling uneasy all night, and now something in Megumi's words had set off an alarm. She thought she knew the source of her worry; Amon was in danger, in trouble! He'd been hurt last night!  
Her face firmed with determination. In a quick, decisive action, Robin slipped the coat over her shoulders and out the door, leaving the rest of the STN-J unit staring after her in surprise.  
  
Originally, Robin had intended to go by Amon's apartment. However, she found that her feet were taking her in a different direction all together; towards the concert hall of the night before. She frowned slightly in confusion, but followed her instinctive path.  
  
Robin paused, then opened the door to the famed 'Dark Lord's' dressing room, totally unprepared for the sight of Amon lying on the carpet with an orbo bullet in his chest. In a moment, she was across the room, her fingers checking for breathing, a pulse, any sign that he was alive. She could feel a flutter under her fingertips, and knew his assassin had miscalculated. Amon was still alive. It was only the orbo that was keeping him down. It needed to be burnt out of his system.  
Burnt! For a moment, his mind shouted in jubilation, but practicality intervened. She wasn't a healer; she was a fire witch. It couldn't be done.  
But she had to try. For Amon.  
Robin peeled off the coat, slipping her glasses into its pocket. After a moment's hesitation, her boots and outer dress followed, leaving her in the black shift and her socks. She knelt on the carpet at his side, her hand resting lightly on Amon's shoulder. She imagined the matrix of his circulatory system and slipped her mind inside of it.  
The blood was thick and green from the ugly fluid that ran through the vessels. Robin tensed, concentrating only on the orbo, and ignoring the blood itself. This would take finer control than she had ever used before. She felt the power build behind her eyes. She channeled it into a steady stream, and with a soft, shuddering sigh, she let it into Amon's veins. The Robin-flame raced through the circulatory tunnels. Blood, through an extreme act of will on her part, was untouched, while she mercilessly consumed each stream of orbo she encountered.  
She finished her purging and withdrew. Wearily, Robin opened her eyes and turned a vivid pink. The carefully controlled fires had raced through her own body, and her hair was the only covering her body had. Blushing, she pulled on her outer dress. As she stood, she realized that her normal weariness from using her craft had crescendoed to a bone-deep exhaustion.  
As she collapsed next to the still-comatose Amon, Robin only had one last thought.  
'I did the impossible!' 


	4. A Possible Consort

A few hours later, Amon revived. His first feeling was shock that he was still alive, before he noticed a light pressure on his arm. Carefully, he turned his head to see a loose-haired Robin slumped at his side. He lifted a stoic eyebrow at her abnormally bared arms. Slowly, he sat up, biting back a violent curse as he felt the orbo bullet in his arm. With quick yanks, he jerked it out and tore apart the gaudy cape to make a bandage. Having tended his own wounds, he pulled on his shirt and boots, then turned to Robin.

She seemed to be alright on inspection. Amon diagnosed craft lash back, laid his jacket across her and placed her boots by her side. He then sank down on the couch, his mind replaying the moments before he had blacked out. As he recognized his assailant, he grimaced.

"I am going to waste that bitch," He muttered. Robin began to stir, and within a few moments, she sat up, smiling as she noticed that Amon was alright.

The door opened, and his agent came into the room. Amon cursed the man's timing, as the man entered calling,

"Amon? I tried your apartment, but no one was picking up." The man's eyes fell on the blonde, beautiful woman who was now standing by Amon, the contrast between them striking.

"Remember what we were discussing? She would-"

"No."

"But the contrast between you. It's-"

"No."

"And why not?"

"Personal security. I'll explain later." Amon said, his voice deepening towards a growl. His agent sighed.

"Why not ask her?" He turned his back on Amon (a very dangerous move), to face Robin, quickly outlining his idea that amounted to 'the Dark Lord needs a consort in the form of a backup female vocalist'.

"You don't even know that she's a soprano." Amon said before Robin could reply. Robin flushed a moment, then said,

"Actually, I am. I was in the choir at the monastery. But if Amon thinks it's a bad idea..."

"Here, talk it over with him and call me back. I'm sure a beautiful woman like you could convince Amon to go along with anything you wanted."

Robin's blush deepened a bit, but she took the offered business card. Amon placed a hand under her elbow and very firmly led her from the room.

Neither of them said anything on the drive back to Robin's apartment.

&

A few days later, Robin walked into Harry's to find Amon nursing an ambiguous alcohol. She sat two barstools down from him, and after a moment of considering whether or not he might actually answer, Robin asked,

"How did you enter the business?"

"Which one?" Amon asked, turning slightly bleary eyes on her.

"Either," Robin faltered. "Both. I don't know."

"My mother wanted me to. She was very sickly, and I used to sing to try to make her feel better. She made me promise that I would never stop making music. So, even while I was trying to train as a hunter, I was using most of my salary to get voice and piano lessons. About six months ago, I got 'lucky' in that the agent came to me. He knew I was a music student, and he thought my looks were right for goth rock."

Robin nodded. "And the other?"

Amon glanced at her over the rim of his glass. "I'm not quite drunk enough to tell you that."

Robin nodded again.

"I will tell you one thing. I've researched the STN's genetic engineering projects. Both of them. And the two experimented on are involved in this conversation. They were designed to complement each other." He rose and walked across the room to the door, then paused with his hand on the knob. "And my last name is Solomon." With that, he pulled open the door and walked out, leaving Robin with some very confused thoughts.


End file.
